


Little Details

by dodds



Category: Actor RPF, Marvel Avengers Movies RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-19
Updated: 2012-07-19
Packaged: 2017-11-10 06:39:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/463318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dodds/pseuds/dodds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's all in the details. Their lips locked. Their bodies fitting together. Their hearts in own rhythm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Details

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hiddlesworth_ed (Thorki_ed)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thorki_ed/gifts).



> gifting to thorki-smut & fyeahhiddlesworth @ tumblr for being generally awesome.
> 
> Disclaimer: it's a beautiful lie.

A peck is a peck. It’s sweet. It’s soft. It’s right there. Right on the cheek. On one of them, both of them. Once on the left, twice on the right. Once on the right, twice on the left.

A peck can mean many things, but not as much at the same time. It’s a greeting in a public place, where a proper kiss is not in order. It’s a morning greet when you’re turned away from each other. It’s a bidding of goodnight when you’re too tired to kiss a proper kiss.

Chapstick can  leave sticky spots when applied moments before the kiss. Not applied chapstick can leave chapped lips, which are rough on the skin.

When lips miss the skin and skin bumps into skin, applied make-up can be smeared off or on. It’ll anger the make-up artists, though they’re always willing to look that other way. It’ll mess up shots, badly applied make up, but the habit of a peck stays there.

It’s a friendly thing, a peck. It’s a love thing as well, with the right person. But no one will ever mind a peck between two people. If they do, they’re pretending.

 

A peck can lead to a kiss. Lips shuffling shyly over the cheek towards the lips. Arms getting wrapped around the body in a hug. Arms hanging over shoulders, claiming and not claiming one at the same time.

Or it are merely hands placed so they cup the face. So they lay friendly in the nap of the neck, toying with the hair that reaches there.

Cheeks might get flustered. Noses will bump into each other when trying to find the best angle. Bumping noses will lead to soft giggles that might ruin the kiss. They might improve the kiss. Noses can touch. Or they can avoid each other.

Lips can fit perfectly together, or they can be trapped between others. Mouths can open slightly. Tongues can beg for an entrance, running over lips. Tongues wrestle slightly, for dominance. For nothing and just because they can.

Eyes are getting closed. Drowning in the kiss. Tom’ll always look once, paranoid about Chris’ feelings. Platonic kisses that stay platonic. Platonic kisses that change into more.

Stubble might rub against a beard. A beard might rub against a beard. Stubble might find stubble. All might be shaved and there’s no feeling one could find unpleasant. They don’t find it unpleasant, they think it’s something of them.

Smiles might be exchanged in the kiss. When they both need it. When they both want it so much, happiness has to be there.

When one of them has brushed his teeth, the taste of toothpaste is there. Strawberry when Tom has. Mint if Chris has. The combination of both as they might have to breathe but pull away ever so slightly makes both sick. Still they find it enjoyable. It’s their special taste and only they taste it. Only they smell it.

 

In bed they’ll lie close to each other, bodies almost completely pressed together. If Chris wants to go further, he’ll pull Tom’s leg over his own two. Hands will be running over chests, or merely lie on sides of waist, closing any left distance with touches. Fingers may touch chins, ears. Even stroke locks of hair out of eyes.

They’ll lie on top of each other, body heat exchanging. Tom’ll always be on top, it’s an unspoken agreement. His hands work their way under Chris’ t-shirt. The other way round it’s the same. Every bit of skin that can be reached is touched.

 

Standing their bodies aren’t pressed together. They touch in various places. Completely in hugs. Never in kisses, like they need freedom to explore what’ve explored before. Hands will stay on waists, on backs, on arms, on faces. Hands will move, over skin, over shirts, over jeans.

Tom’s face’ll be the one titled to a side, but their noses still touch. They won’t move. They won’t even moan. It’s just them. Standing. Kissing. Sucking slightly if a lip gets trapped between two others.

 

A kiss can be messy. Ever so hastily shared before one has to go. Eagerly at arrival. Packed with emotions. With lust. With passion.  

It can be tender. Unexpected in a private moment between the two of them. When Chris is cooking. When Tom wrestles himself out of the sweaty, white t-shirt he always wears under his costume.

Expected, it can also be. When they share a cab as they drive home from somewhere. When one comes home from the shops, arms packed with stuff.

It’s their moment. It’s their tongues connecting. Tasting. Exploring. It’s their heartbeats beating in the same rhythm. A melody only they are able to understand. It’s in a harmony.

They forget everything. They are in their own little bubble. Slipping into scripts only they can understand. Saying words in a volume they can’t speak. Transferring messages in a voice in they don’t use. They built that barrier no one can break.

The press is a predator they have shaken off. Their friends, knowing or not knowing, are forgotten. It’s them. There. Now. Then.

It’s the world that stops turning. It’s the sounds that are incoherent to their ears. It’s everything that they know that’s far away.

 

Kisses can turn into more. Not always but sometimes they do. When they deepen. When buttons are hated and zippers get stuck. When standing still is lying down.

Hands tracing over newly exposed skin. Kisses leaving the mouth. Butterfly kisses. Kissing. Biting. Sucking. They have done it all. At once. In multiple times.

Water might stream over them as soap gets washed of their bodies. Towels might get lost in the way to the bed. Clothes might get taken off, fingers stroking over sensitive parts. Triggering reactions like no one else could.

It’s never too slow. Never too fast. It’s always in the tempo they want it to be.

 

When it ends, they’re breathless. It was everything they wanted it to be. It is everything they want it to. It’s limbs tangled up in each other. It are blankets reached for.

It’s sleep breaking the barrier of their makeshift world. It’s the reality coming up again. The masks need to be put up for the friends. They wonder how easy it would be if they weren’t famous. It saddens them. They wouldn’t have even met.

The problem is: how long can you the mask up? How long can you keep a secret that warms your heart when you think of it.

It’s always everything you want laid out in front of you. And you can look all the time. But you can’t always touch. And how long can you hold it out?

 

Until it is _insanely irresistible._


End file.
